


Falling

by Dancingsalome



Series: Fabien and Sophie [4]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-10-28 16:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10835481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingsalome/pseuds/Dancingsalome
Summary: Sophie’s relation with Fabien has consequences. A sequel to A Bewildered Heart





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to say this fic is pure self-indulgence, but then isn’t that true about fanfic in general? Perhaps because this fic, as indeed all my Versailles-fic, are new territory for me- after more than a decade of fanfic writing I’ve never really written love stories before. And this story is a reaction to season 2. There are no spoilers here, indeed, this fic is firmly a canon-divergence story, but it’s still a reaction. I want Fabien and Sophie to be happy. They may still be in the show, of course, but I doubt they will be happy with each other. Luckily there is always fanfic. I never intended this to be a series, but that’s what it is. I’m still writing a piece of smut which will tie directly with _A Bewildered Heart_ , and there will be another fic to round it all off, eventually.

_Trip over love, you can get up. Fall in love and you fall forever. Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart. Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs._ /William Shakespeare

 

Sophie de Clermont was scared. The fear had grown on her for days, every morning she had awoke in the hope she worried for nought, every night it had grown a bit more. She had tried to chase it away with hope and prayers, but now she knew she must accept what had happened. And it terrified her.

For the past few months, Sophie had been happy. The arrangement between her and Fabien had been as satisfying as she had dreamt of, even though there had been no spoken words of affection between them. That their relationship could have consequences was something she had always known, but had ignored. A foolish decision, perhaps, but it had somehow seemed so unlikely. Now Sophie had waited for weeks after the telltale sign of blood on her shift, but there had been nothing. There were other signs too, signs which she had seen before in other women; nausea and tiredness, and her breast feeling tender and fuller. She was going to have a child, and she had to tell Fabien. It was the thought of what he might do which terrified her as the old fear of being discarded reared its head. She would have to leave Versailles soon, before anyone else found out, and she could not return until after the child was born. It would mean many months when she would be useless to him while still needing his help, and Sophie did not feel certain he would be prepared to do that. Having a child while unmarried would shame her beyond redemption if it became known, but Fabien could deny any responsibility if he wanted to.

But when she told him, Fabien displayed no emotions at all. He merely nodded, making Sophie feel more defensive than afraid.

“It is yours,” she added, though he didn’t seem inclined to argue.

“I do not doubt that.”

“And you are not angry?”

“Anger seems a misplaced reaction here. It is not convenient, but these things happens.”

Sophie felt a sudden relief, for a moment she felt almost overwhelmed. Fabien frowned and made her sit down.

“What are we going to do now? I know I can’t stay.”

“You will need a safe place for you, and where the child can remain when you return here. Give me a few days for a suitable arrangement. You will need to come up with a reason for leaving Versailles.”

A week later, Sophie left Versailles in the early morning. Fabien had told her little of her destination, only saying it wasn’t far; she would arrive by the evening. Sophie felt small and scared alone in the carriage; not even Mariette was with her. All for the sake of secrecy, but Sophie thought it was lonesome to travel alone. She wished she had had the courage to ask Fabien to go with her. But he had already told her he would come to see her when she had settled down, and she didn’t want to hear him decline.

The journey was uneventful, and as Fabien had promised, it was not yet night when she arrived. Sophie stepped out of the carriage and looked around, feeling uncertain of what to do. She was standing on a cobbled yard in front of well-kept house. It was not large, but still looked prosperous. The door opened and a woman emerged. She was elderly, but spry and straight, dressed in a black gown, and with her grey hair was neatly tucked into a clean and starched linen cap. Her dark eyes studied Sophie in a way which felt oddly familiar. 

“You must be Mademoiselle de Clermont. I am Madame Marchal.”

Sophie's surprise rendered her speechless for a moment, and she followed her hostess into the house in silence. This woman must be Fabien’s mother, and she felt he could have told her this simple fact, but perhaps he had thought she would have objected. And he would have been right, Sophie felt, but now she was here, and had nowhere else to go.

“You must be tired. I will show you your room, and perhaps you would prefer to eat there for tonight.”

Sophie nodded, and then found her voice. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“I didn’t have anything to say about it. This is my son’s house, and he is free to invite anyone he likes.” She crossed her arms in a gesture which eerily reminded Sophie of Fabien. “I don’t approve of your morals, young lady, but this is the last I will ever say about it. As long as you are here, I will look after you.”

She nodded curtly as if to give her words weight, and then led Sophie to her room. It was simple, but not poor. The furniture was well-made, and the bed was plump with mattresses and pillows filled plumed with eiderdown. She showed the coachman who had followed them with Sophie’s luggage, where to put it down, and then they both left Sophie alone.

There was a knock on the door and a girl of around fifteen entered with a tray filled with food and drink. She curtsied and smiled.

“I’m Jeanne. If you need anything, you only have to tell me.”

Sophie smiled back. “I would appreciate if you could help me change clothes.”

Jeanne obliged willingly, exclaiming over cut and quality of Sophie’s clothes, but Sophie’s intricate hairstyle made her pause.

“I can never do this for you tomorrow, Mademoiselle. I know nothing of how a great lady should look.”

Sophie couldn’t help laughing. “I am not a great lady, and I expect I will be happier with something simpler while I am here.”

The first few days passed quickly as Sophie got used to her new surroundings. There were few servants in the house, apart from Jeanne, there was only a cook. Madame Marchal was never idle, her days was filled with tasks and Sophie was left alone in the parlour room. Sometimes a neighbour turned up, with a pretext of some kind or the other, but all curious of Madame Marchal’s guest. Sophie was presented as a relative, a young widow, and no one seemed inclined to question the truth of it.

Sophie had never wondered about Fabien’s past, and the fact he had a family felt strange to her. Madame Marchal was not a gossip, but during the course of several days, Sophie learned Fabien had an older brother who was a book printer in Paris. Sophie was left with a distinct impression neither Madame Marchal nor Fabien got along with him and rarely saw him.

When Sophie settled down, she found she was bored. The days at court had been idle, but she had always had friends to talk with, and she had her assignments from Fabien to fulfill. Here no one demanded anything of her, and though she slept a good deal more than she usually did, there was still long hours to fill on her own. One day she ventured out into the kitchen, drawn by the sound of talking. Madame Marchal was discussing dinner with the cook, but both fell silent when Sophie entered.

“Can I help with something?” Sophie asked timidly.

“What can you do?” Madame Marchal asked, and Sophie blushed.

“I know nothing about cooking, But it felt a little lonely in the parlour, and perhaps if it wasn’t too difficult-”

Her voice trailed of. Madame Marchal didn’t want her in the house, and she was probably best pleased with Sophie out of the way. But instead of telling her to go and rest, Madame Marchal picked up a bowl of peas, and showed Sophie how to shell them.

“There is a bench you can sit on outside the kitchen door, nicely shaded. You look a little pale, the fresh air would do you good.”

Sophie’s finger were unused to the task, but it was not difficult, and it was restful to look out over the well-ordered kitchen garden. She could hear the women in the kitchen talking through the open door, and from time to time Jeanne rushed by, always with a friendly smile for Sophie.

In the following days, Sophie spent more time on the bench. Jeanne furnished it with a few cushions to make it more comfortable, and on Sophie’s insistence she was given a few more tasks to do. One day Madame Marchal came out and sat down beside her.

“Have you anything prepared for the child?”

Sophie who had nothing, shook her head. “I don’t know what I need.”

Madame Marchal raised an eyebrow, and Sophie tried to explain, feeling she sounded stupid.

“I have no sisters and brothers, and there are very few children at Versailles. I’m afraid I have never been around small children much.”

“Hmm. It seems a strange way of life.”

“Did you have many children, Madame?”

“Five. Only two who lived to grow up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was a long time ago. You can’t let t get to you, children die so easily.” She must have seen something is Sophie’s face, because after a pause she added. “You are young and seem healthy enough. So far everything is exactly as it should be for you, so try not to worry.”

Later in the afternoon she took Sophie to the parlour and showed her a chest where she kept linen fabric.

“I will show you how to cut out what you need. At first it will mostly be swaddling cloths and caps, but you need more than you think. Babies need more linens than any other age.”

“Thank you,” Sophie said, and her gratefulness was sincere.

While she watched Madame Marshal's aging hands smooth the fabric before cutting it, a memory rose in Sophie’s mind. She could see another pair of hands doing the same task, while Sophie stood beside and watched, but in her memory she was so short she must stand on a stool to see properly. And there was a voice, belonging to the hands, and Sophie knew it was her grandmother.

“Your stitches are getting very neat now, Sophie. I will let you hem this for a new cravat for you father. He will be very proud over you.”

That was all, a brief glimpse of her childhood she hadn’t known she remembered. Sophie blinked back tears, hoping Madame Marchal wouldn’t notice.

Gradually Sophie got used to the slower pace of life. She missed Versailles, and she missed her friends, but she found she didn’t feel homesick and bored anymore. It was a different life from court, and many of the things which were considered important there, were things the people around her now never concerned themselves with. As Madame Marchal had promised she didn’t dwell on Sophie’s obvious lack of chastity, and she was kind and caring if in a rather gruff way. As she never spoke of it, Sophie was unsure if Fabien’s mother knew it was her grandchild Sophie was carrying, and she didn’t dare to broach the subject herself. 

There was still an odd ache inside her, a feeling Sophie failed to realise the source of for many weeks. Not until there was a note from Fabien which said he would come in a few days time. The joy she felt over a few words, forced her to admit she ached because she missed Fabien. Once his knowledge of her past had been a threat, but without her notice, it had turned into a comfort. Sophie spent every day in a pretense, never fully being able to stop guarding herself, and it was only with Fabien she could speak freely. And she missed his brief smile when he was pleased with her, and she missed his touch. It was an unwelcome understanding for Sophie, who knew this was something she could not tell him. Even so, she looked forward to see him again, impatiently waiting for the day of his arrival.


	2. Chapter 2

It was in the early afternoon when a horse was heard outside the parlour window. Sophie had been reading as Madame Marchal mended linen, but now they both looked up.

“It’s Fabien!” Sophie exclaimed, earning her a sharp glance from Madame Marchal. She hadn't felt this happy for a long time, but when Fabien entered the room she schooled her features, and took care to rise with dignity. Fabien greeted his mother first before he turned to Sophie.

“I trust you are well, Mademoiselle de Clermont?”

“Very well, Monsieur Marchal.”

She found nothing else to say, but when Madame Marchal went out to order a meal, Sophie stretched out her hand, and the smile she had tried to suppress broke free. Fabien grasped it quickly, his hand warm and real around hers.

“Are you sure you are well?”

“Oh yes. Your mother is very kind. How long will you stay?”

“Not long; I have to go back tomorrow.”

Then the door opened and Fabien let go of her hand and stepped away. The evening passed quickly, and there were no more opportunities for Sophie to talk with him alone. She wished she could ask him to come to her room later, but she slept next to Madame Marchal's bedroom, and the risk of being heard felt too great. 

Sophie woke up early when Fabien’s horse whinnied in the yard. She sat up in bed, wide awake at once. He was already leaving, and without telling her goodbye. Without hesitation she grabbed her robe but in her haste she forgot her slippers as she ran down the stairs. But when she reached the open door, she only caught a glimpse of Fabien before he disappeared behind an outbuilding. She almost called out after him, but managed to stop herself. Tears of disappointment prickled in her eyes as she stood in the doorway. Not until a shawl was wrapped around her shoulders did she realise she was cold, her feet feeling like ice.

“What are you thinking? You’ll catch your death if you run around like this!”

Madame Marchal continued her scolding as she led Sophie into the kitchen which was already warm from the fire. Sophie sat down in front of the stove and her shivers subsided as she huddled miserable into the shawl. Madame Marchal sat down beside her.

“You and I need to talk about a few things. I had hoped my son would see fit to inform me, but it seems he likes his secrets too well.”

“I don’t understand,” Sophie said warily, though she knew what Madame Marchal must be speaking of.

“Oh, I think you do. I knew for certain when I saw your face yesterday, but I had my suspicions before. I imagine the king’s mistresses are provided with more luxury than I can give. And it would not be among Fabien’s duties to provide shelter for any nobleman’s misstep. Apart from his own.”

Sophie looked down at her hands. She had dreaded this, but now she found she was glad to have it out.

“I didn’t know if you knew, or not.”

“So you waited for Fabien to speak.”

Sophie nodded and Madame Marchal put her hand over hers. When Sophie looked up to meet the older woman’s eyes she saw no judgement there, only concern.

“He is a man, and what do they know about a woman’s life and sorrows? I guess he assumes you have already told me. But you are good at keeping your secrets too. It has surprised me that you speak so little of your life. You carry a lot of silences, far too many for someone so young. And you seem very alone. Tell me, do you have anyone at all who cares for you?”

“No, no one,” Sophie whispered. “Only Fabien.”

Madame Marchal sighed. “I know my son, and he is a hard man. Not someone a beautiful girl without protection should be subjected to.”

“He never did anything I didn’t want.”

“I don’t think you would have worn your heart on your face when you saw him, if he had.”

Whenever Sophie had thought of how Madame Marchal would react when she learned the true nature of her relationship with Fabien, she had expected recriminations, perhaps even to be driven away Now she felt an almost overwhelming relief, and her voice shook when she spoke.

“You are too kind to me. I don’t deserve this.”

She had not meant to, but when Madame Marchal put her arms around her, Sophie started to cry. Madame Marchal rocked her gently, her hand stroking Sophie's hair, but it only made Sophie cry harder. She could not remember ever having been comforted like this. Her mother would have allowed her a few minutes before she would have grown impatient, but Madame Marchal let her cry until there were no more tears left. Then she washed Sophie’s face and put her back to bed. 

“Don’t worry child. Everything will be fine.”

Then she left Sophie alone. Exhausted by her crying fit, she would have liked to sleep, but she thought of what Madame Marchal had said and seen. It was true, but Sophie didn’t want to accept it. Falling in love with Fabien was the last thing she needed, but she had. She had been falling for a long time, so slowly she had been able to deny it until now. She could not deny it anymore, but it was a revelation which brought no happiness at all.

As time passed, Sophie’s body started to change. Her tummy grew larger, but the rest of her body grew rounder too. If she had been at court, she would have continued to lace herself into corsets and stiff bodices, but here she saw no need for it. Madame de Montespan had created a fashion for loose robes, hanging in soft pleats around the body to hide a growing belly, and Sophie found them very comfortable and wore them daily.

A fine spring morning, Sophie was alone in the house. Madame Marchal and the cook had gone to the market and Jeanne had a few days of leave to help her sister who had just had her first child. Sophie felt no energy for either sewing or reading and was dreamily looking out of the window when she saw Fabien on his black horse. He was not expected. Sophie knew he could not have come all the way from Versailles in a few short morning hours, so he must have been close by and decided on a visit.

Sophie rose and brushed imaginary lint from her gown. It was made from fine wool in a pleasing shade of yellow, but it was not what she would have worn if she had known Fabien was coming. For him she was prepared to suffer the growing discomfort of wearing a corset, but now there was no time to change. She had not even put up her hair yet; it was only loosely braided down her back. As Fabien dismounted, she ran her hands over it, hoping she wouldn’t look too disheveled. She hadn’t needed to worry, when Fabien entered the room she could see he was pleased with what he saw.

“Are you here all alone?”

“Yes.”

Fabien closed the door, and then bolted it, making Sophie’s breath catch in sudden anticipation. He took three long strides to cross the room to her, his hands cupping her face, as he leaned down for a kiss. His fingers on her skin felt like small jolts of fire, and she kissed him eagerly back. When he broke the kiss to look at her more closely, he was smiling.

Sophie smiled back, delighting in the feeling of his hands skimming over her body. It had been too long, her breath quickened, and she was not sure if it was she or Fabien who was the most impatient to get hindering clothes out of the way. Their embrace was hurried, but not without tenderness. Fabien's hand caressed her rounded belly, and hesitated for a moment, but Sophie pulled him closer, her fingers urging him to continue.

Afterwards he held her close, and Sophie dared to whisper;

“Don’t leave again without saying goodbye.”

He nodded into her hair, and his arms tightened around her.

“I won't.”

Something seemed to have changed between them and Sophie was on the verge of telling him how much she missed him, perhaps even more. But then there were a noise outside, and they sprang apart in the realisation they would soon have company. Sophie fled up to her room to make herself presentable. The moment was lost, and perhaps Sophie felt, that was for the best.


	3. Chapter 3

If Sophie had felt there was a new closeness between her and Fabien, she soon had to think otherwise. Fabien's visits were few and brief, and over time he grew more and more distant and quiet. He hardly even looked at her even when he greeted her, and Sophie felt both confused and upset, as she could not understand why. Worried she stared at herself in the mirror, wondering if her changing body repulsed him. But it had not seemed like that before, and though she grew bigger and heavier, her reflection told her she was still beautiful. Her features had grown slightly more rounded, but her skin was still white and smooth, her eyes bright and her hair seemed to grow thicker and glossier by the day. No, she didn't think her form was the reason to Fabien's coolness, but she could not imagine what else it could be.

Gradually she became aware that Fabien and his mother were not on good terms anymore. Sophie had always had the impression they got on well with each other, but now something had come between them, and she had an uncomfortable feeling she was the reason. There were arguments behind closed doors on more than one occasion, but nothing was ever said in Sophie's presence. Her curiosity and unease grew, and when she found herself outside the parlour when Fabien and his mother had another exchange, she couldn't resist eavesdropping. With some difficulty as she was getting close to term and had grown quite big, Sophie kneeled at the closed door to listen through the keyhole. When she pressed her ear against the door, she could hear Madame Marchal speaking, her sharp voice easy to discern.

"No, I don't see that. You know I wasn't pleased when you took her here, but I've grown very fond of Sophie. She has been a good company and I would like her to stay with me. Marriage would not shame either of you."

"It is not possible."

"Why not? It would be better for Sophie, and if you deigned to look at her when you are here, you would see she is in love with you."

"I can assure you, Mademoiselle de Clermont is not in love with me. She cannot."

"If you cared for her-"

"I care enough! Sophie's place is at Versailles, and she will return as soon as it is possible."

His voice came closer to the door as if he was moving to leave, and Sophie made an ungainly flight before she was discovered. In the safety of her room she sat down on the bed, her head buzzing from what she had overheard so she hardly knew what to react to first. She had never imagined Madame Marchal wanted her to stay, and now she knew why Fabien had grown so distant; he must think she was in league with his mother. And she could not tell him she had known nothing about it.

So Fabien and his mother quarreled because Madame Marchal wanted her to stay. It was the first time in Sophie's life she could recall anyone wanting her to be around for no other reason than for being herself. Not a pawn to gain access to the King, not a spy to gather useful information, but only because she was Sophie. The knowledge made something inside her, something which had felt frozen all her life, melt and fill her with warmth.

Sophie had never considered marriage when it came to Fabien. For all intents and purposes she was a noblewoman, and he was a commoner. The King might bestow a dowry on her one day; she would not be the first impoverished young lady who would receive one. But it was very unlikely he would allow a marriage which would be considered a scandalous mis-alliance. And even if it had been possible, Fabien would not want to. He did not love her though she had thought he had grown to like her. And to trust her, he would not have brought her here if he had not. She could have been waiting for her child to be born in a rented room, cared for by hired and indifferent strangers, but he had taken her to his mother instead who was kind and caring despite her often brusque manner. But for all that, Sophie was still only a commodity for Fabien, useful and convenient. There were no reasons to why he should think Sophie could care for him either, and now, more than ever, she was happy she had never told him her feelings for him had changed.

Knowing Madame Marchal liked her, made Sophie's already warm feelings for the older woman to deepen into love. Sophie's education had under her mother's tutelage been aimed to be pleasing, under Fabien's understanding politics. From Madame Marchal she learnt all the practical niceties in running a household, like doing the accounts and planning meals. It made her understand how narrow Beatrice's schooling had been, for this was useful knowledge for any woman, no matter her status. Her mother must have known them, but neglected to teach them to her daughter. It made her wonder if Beatrice had ever imagined Sophie to have a future beyond her mother's goals for her.

With Madame Marchal's help, Sophie prepared clothes and linens for her child. The closer she came to term, the baby she would have became more and more real for her. She could sit for long periods, just holding her hands over her belly and marveling at the kicks and movements inside her. A nursery was prepared, and Madame Marchal engaged Marie, Jeanne's sister to come and live with them for a while, so she could nurse Sophie's child along with her own baby.

"Marie is a good-natured girl with clean habits. She will be ideal; it's important to choose a wet-nurse with good character, or bad traits may carry over with the milk. Her little boy is sturdy and thriving and she has more than enough to feed another small one."

Sophie briefly allowed herself to wish she could nurse her baby herself before agreeing. A noblewoman didn't nurse her children, she knew, and the sooner she was ready to return to Versailles after the birth, the better.

Sophie went into labour in the mid-summer. She had been told many times of how painful labour was, but she had never imagined it could be like this, and she found it very frightening. Despite Madame Marchal's assurances everything progressed in a perfectly normal manner for a first birth, Sophie feared she would not survive. She asked for Fabien, but though a message had been sent as soon as it was clear the child was coming, there had not been enough time for him to arrive yet. As the contractions grow stronger and closer together, she grabbed Madame Marchal's hand and squeezed it hard.

"You must tell Fabien I forgive him. For everything. It's important you tell him I forgive him for everything."

"Don't talk like that. If there is anything needing to be told, you will say it yourself."

For a long time it felt like Sophie's body tries to turn her open from the inside, but then, when she felt she could not stand it much longer, something changed, she pushed one last time, and suddenly it was over. Exhausted and sore she fell back on the bed, but when the baby screamed she tried to sit up again.

"Lay down," Madame Marchal told her. "It's a fine little girl, and you will get to hold her as soon as she has been cleaned and swaddled."

The baby was perfect. Red and wrinkly and with a tuft of black hair, and perfect. Sophie stared down at the tiny human in her arms in amazement.

"She looks like her father", Madame Marchal said. "As she should. All newborns take after their fathers. Have you thought of a name yet?"

"I will call her Henriette, after the Princess."

"You don't want to name her after your mother?"

"Sophie shook her head. "No. I will never name a child of mine after her."

Madame Marchal raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't press the question.

Fabien came in the early morning. Sophie awoke to see him standing at her bed, still clad in his mud-stained travelling cloak and carrying a scent of wind and rain with him. She smiled, and he sat down at her bedside, softly touching her hair.

"Have you seen her? Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yes. And you should rest."

He leaned down to kiss her brow and Sophie slipped back to sleep as he took her hand and held it very gently.

When she woke up later, Fabien was still there, but he had once again reverted into perfunctory politeness, showing little apparent interest in Henriette, and barely more for Sophie. Bewildered, she wondered if the tenderness he had showed her had happened, or if it had only been a dream.


	4. Chapter 4

Under Madame Marchal’s care, Sophie quickly regained her strength after the birth. Her body returned, almost, to how it had been before her pregnancy. Sophie’s breasts had grown fuller and there were a few marks on her stomach, but fully clothed, no one would think she had delivered a child. The big changes, were all in her mind. Sophie had always assumed she would love any child she would have, but she had not predicted how strong her love for Henriette would be. It had overwhelmed her the moment she held her child in her arms, and it only grew from there.

“It’s not wise to attach yourself like this. It will be so much harder on you when you are not here anymore,” Madame Marchal told her one day when she found Sophie staring in wonder at her sleeping child.

“I know,” Sophie answered, but she couldn’t help herself. She spent as much time as she could with the baby, singing songs and talking to her, though she knew Henriette was too small to understand her. The baby grew so quickly, growing plump and rosy within days of her birth. Her eyes, which had startled Sophie with being blue, darkened; not to Fabien’s brown eye colour, but to the familiar near-black of Sophie’s own eyes. And though Sophie couldn’t feed her child, she could feed Marie, and constantly plied her with any delicacy she could think of.

The day Henriette smiled for the first time, Sophie realised she didn’t want to go back to Versailles. She had not wanted to have a child, and at first she had felt the day of her return couldn’t come soon enough. And even after she had accepted what was happening, and even looked forward to the baby, Sophie had never entertained the idea of staying. She had been happy to learn Madame Marchal wanted her to, but she had still not considered anything else than to return to court after the child was born.

Now she wanted to stay, the thought of leaving Henriette growing more and more unbearable. It was not that she was worried for the baby’s well-being. Sophie knew she would be well taken care of and loved. Fabien had promised her there would be some money settled on Henriette too, and Sophie did not doubt he already had arranged for it. But the thought of not seeing her child grow up made Sophie’s heart feel like it was crushed in a wrench.

There was little glamour and more work here than in Versailles- they were worlds apart, and Sophie had never thought she would want to trade the palace for this modest house. But it would be worth it, to be with Henriette.. And, in a very secret part of her mind, she sometime imagined it would be possible to marry Fabien, and then she could have him too, if not every day. It was a beautiful dream, but a dream was all it was. Still, Sophie could not let go of it.

When Henriette was close to three months old, Fabien told her it was time to return, and to prepare for her departure.

Sophie felt cold, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. She had known this day would come, but she had hoped it would be a little while yet.

“So soon? But Henriette is still so small- she needs me.”

And then, because there would never be a better time to ask, she plunged deeply into her dream.

“I want to stay here.”

“What?”

“I know your mother wants me here, and I love her. And I want to be with Henriette. Can’t you let me? I would work for my keep- I’ll do anything. If I can only stay here.”

Fabien hesitated for a moment, but then he dismissed her.

“You are needed at court. You will return.”

Sophie put a hand on his arm. “Please. A few years until she is a little older. A few months even. Please, Fabien.”

“No.” Then he seemed to soften slightly. “You know she will lack nothing here. And it is not so far, you can visit, from time to time.”

“But not often.”

“No, not very often.”

“And if I refuse to come back?”

Fabien didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, Sophie knew anyway. She couldn’t stay in his house if he didn’t let her. He could even take Henriette away, hide her somewhere Sophie could not find her. There was no choice but to do what Fabien wanted.

“So you demand my obedience?”

“Yes, if needed; I order you to come back to Versailles.”

His answer, though Sophie had expected it, still hit her as a blow. That was what she was, a set of skills he could use as he wanted. If he had said it was he who needed her at Versailles, then perhaps it would have felt a little better. But he only wanted her back because of her usefulness. And though he had not reminded her he owned her, Sophie knew she had no say in how he decided to shape her life. There was only one thing in her life she was sole mistress of, only one thing where she knew he would yield to her. And in her anger and heartbreak she reached for it.

“I will return, and I will do what you want. But that is all there will be between us. Anything else is over. I never want you to touch me again.”

For a moment she thought Fabien would protest, she wished he would, but then he took a step back, so her hand fell away from his sleeve.

“Very well, if that is what you wish.”

Then he left, leaving Sophie to feel she had lost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this ends rather open-ended, but there will be a sequel to this story.


End file.
